


Wither

by todisturbtheuniverse



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can’t sleep, because the bed is cold and empty, and Garrett has been gone for three days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wither

**Author's Note:**

> Act 3; post-Justice.
> 
> I hate everything and everything hates me, but most of all, Anders and I are still side-eyeing each other with revolted curiosity.

You can’t sleep, because the bed is cold and empty, and Garrett has been gone for three days.

 _Why did he take Fenris_ , you think, _and not me?_

You try not to remember what you said, so callously, in Hightown a few weeks ago— _do you really need me along for this?_ —and the way his eyes had squinted up just slightly, as though he needed to flinch from the blow of your words. You try not to remember that he offered you a key, a way out, and gently drew you from your paranoid rage when it seemed that was all you were capable of. You try not to remember how he looked at you, betrayal etched in every new line in his features as his lips formed around _blackmail_.

You feel as if you’re missing something, but you don’t have the time to work out what it is.

He’s been withdrawn—not just with you, though that’s little comfort. Aveline seems the only one on speaking terms with him now; once, passing through the barracks, you saw him in her office, head bowed, and her speaking soft and low, a wave of comfort that didn’t reach you. You weren’t spying. You live with the man, by Andraste, you don’t need to spy on him. She looks at you these days with a faint hint of accusation in her eyes, and you feel knee-jerk shame before you bury that, too, along with everything else.

And now he’s gone with Merrill, to supervise one of her many dalliances with demons, and he took Fenris with him, of all people. _Fenris_. At the very least the warrior will be quick to cut Merrill down if anything goes wrong, but—the way they snipe at each other, you’d think Garrett would banish the elf to his mansion and avoid setting eyes on him, especially when you consider that he is not an oblivious man, and he must see the look Fenris gives him when his back is turned—the kind of wounded, longing frustration that you once wore all over your face for three long years.

_You were fast enough to replace me._

You had declared in the flush of victory that _Fenris_ , of all people, could not understand—that love was beyond such a broken creature. You kept Garrett’s warm smile tucked in your pocket like a secret. It was proof that Garrett had only ever wanted you, and that was a balm for three years of restraint and heartache. But that’s three years past, and you know that your time is running down, and you wonder if he knows, too, and if that’s why he can’t seem to look at you, if that’s why he’s barely strung together a sentence for you since the Chantry—

Downstairs, hinges creak softly. Your heart leaps. You’ll comfort him, you reason in your moment of desperation and relief. You’ll take back what you said. His footfalls—soft and familiar—tread through the foyer. You swing your feet out of bed, prepared to offer him a sheepish smile, but his footsteps turn before the stairs and wind toward the fireplace instead. It’s already burned low. He’ll want company, you tell yourself, and pull on a robe to throw off the chill. You feel bare without your staff—you always do—but you leave it.

You go quietly. You want to surprise him. When you reach the bottom of the stairs, there’s a soft _pop_ , the sound of him uncorking wine in the next room. You pause in the doorway, just to look a moment, because he hasn’t heard you, and you think he’s always at his best when he’s unguarded.

Perhaps it says something that he has to be guarded around you, but you push that down too.

The firelight sweeps over him, giving him the appearance of little movements even though he’s still. The glass is cupped in his hand, but he hasn’t lifted it to his lips yet to drink. His boots are dusty and careworn, and he hasn’t shrugged off his staff yet; the blade is rusted with blood. Peripherally, you wonder what happened at Sundermount. His back is to you, but you can see the traces of dirt in his shaggy dark hair. He looks out of place in his own home, a disjointed vision from the thick-cut, sparkling crystal beneath his grimy fingers. The Champion. He’s glory itself, even ragged with exhaustion, and there’s a burst of warmth in your chest for _him_ , the man underneath that symbolic armor.

He doesn’t drink; he puts down the glass, lifts the hand to his brow instead, flinches. Maybe he’s wounded—you take half a step forward, intending to reveal your presence—but then he half-lurches, half-falls forward and braces his hands on the table, head bowed, shoulders hunched.

“Do I look like the leader of this merry band of misfits?” he mutters, and the phrase that he once chirped with smooth wit now seems a broken jumble of syllables, faltering and discordant. He lifts the hand again, presses it over his eyes, and pulls in a rasping breath.

You should comfort him. You don’t know what’s wrong, but you should reach out, touch his shoulder, rouse him from whatever weight burdens him—

You step back. Like the coward you are, you drift back up the stairs, leaving him alone with his grief. You could lie to yourself—Maker knows you’re good at that—but you know the truth: whatever happened at Sundermount is nothing, nothing at all, compared to what you’ve done to him. And maybe you had no choice; maybe there is no other way to protect him; but your words on that fiercely sunny day seem hollow now, and you would not blame him if he no longer believed you.


End file.
